


Will and the Lithuanian (Or; Socialising is a Slippery Slope to Crushes and Cannibalism)

by DontOffendTheBees



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (but ONLY with consent), (in a twisted way), Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Cannibalism, Crushes, Don't copy to another site, First Meetings, Flirting, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Meet-Cute, Pre-Slash, slighty de-aged characters, this is just dumb shit lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25089772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: “...You had ice cream.”“And wine,” Will added, as if that somehow made it better. “And a little whiskey.” And he’d slept on Hannibal’s couch, since he was too tipsy to drive by the end, but he figured that little nugget might just give Beverly an aneurysm.“With theman who wanted to eat you?!”she shrieked.“Only with my consent,”Will defended. Before taking a second to wonder how exactly his life had come to this.In which Will tries to meet new people, and it goes about as well as you'd expect.
Relationships: Will Graham & Beverly Katz, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 258





	Will and the Lithuanian (Or; Socialising is a Slippery Slope to Crushes and Cannibalism)

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing the trend of ignoring un-updated WIPs in favour of random shit no one asked for, have some ridiculous Hannigram.
> 
> I actually wrote a first draft of this like, a couple of years ago, but I rediscovered it lately and thought it had potential so I polished it up! But I still haven't spent a huge amount of time on it, so mistakes etc. are mine!
> 
> I've left it deliberately ambiguous what exactly Will's job is in this one, it's kinda up to you but he's younger than in-show so whatever it is he hasn't been doing it for long, and he still does something at least FBI-adjacent enough to consider them co-workers. All the characters are probs about 10, 15 years younger than in-show and at a correspondingly earlier stage of their lives/careers. Bev's also younger and swearier. Young Hannibal hasn't mastered the English language yet. He also respects humans enough to not eat them without their consent, so he's uuuuh a bit *nicer* than he is in canon lmao. Honestly, this is probably OOC as fuck, but I had fun with it and hopefully you will, too!
> 
> I took this story/idea and some dialogue from the IT Crowd episode 'Moss and the German'. Which, sadly, was written by Graham Linehan, but FUCK that guy, I'm taking it and I'm making it gay, what's he gonna do, tweet about it? Oooooh, right, he can't anymore, LMAO. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

Being in crowded, noisy, unfamiliar places was tiring. Being around living things that weren’t his dogs was tiring. _Socialising_ with said things (okay, okay, _people)_ was fucking exhausting. And yet somehow, tonight, Will had got stuck doing all three, getting his ear talked off by Beverly Katz in a grimy bar, surrounded by inebriated colleagues, the loudness of their voices directly proportional to the increasing amount of alcohol consumed.

At least no one had started singing, yet.

He tuned into what Bev was saying a second, as he had been doing every few minutes to check he wasn’t missing anything important. On this occasion, he caught the tail end of something mildly insulting, and had enough residual pride to get a little pissed about it. “You don’t have to keep talking about me like I’m some middle-aged hermit,” he grumbled.

“Honestly, you might as well be,” said Bev flatly, shaking her head and downing the rest of her drink. She graciously waited ‘til she’d wiped the foam from her mouth to keep needling him. “You’re _twenty-six,_ Graham. And all you do is hide out at home with your dogs and engines!”

Since he’d _just_ been thinking about how much he’d rather be doing exactly that, he didn’t have much to fire back with. He still gave it a half-hearted shot. “I’m sitting at a bar right now.”

“Yeah, _alone,_ ‘til I took pity on your sorry ass.”

“Lucky me…” he muttered, scowling into his beer.

Bev rolled her eyes and signalled the bartender for another. “Come on, man. We’re young! We’re supposed to be… I don’t know, getting _drunk_ and having _sex_ and making dumb mistakes and-”

“Acting like twenty year-olds played by forty year-olds in Hollywood movies, yes I know.”

“Ugh, you know what I mean,” she said, receiving her new pint with a glower over the rim at Will. “What have you got against _living,_ man?”

He chuckled hoarsely. “I find your manner of living exhausting, Beverly.”

“Well, maybe you haven’t hit the right balance yet,” Bev suggested, changing tack. “It doesn’t have to be getting wasted and burning the midnight oil. Maybe you could just… join a book club.”

Will gave her his best withering look.

“Brr. Shit, you’re good at that. Look, whatever, I’m just thinking out loud!” She raised her hands in surrender. Which she immediately undermined by pressing on. “Doesn’t have to be a book club. Chess club, maybe? D&D?”

“I don’t know if I like this picture of me you’re painting.”

“Okay, maybe clubs aren’t the way forward here,” she conceded, sighing and looking around the bar. Her sigh turned into an excited shout when her eyes alighted on a guy alone a little ways down the bar with a newspaper. “Bingo!”

She made a beeline for the guy, and must have said something suggestive, charming or borderline threatening because she was walking back with the man’s paper in hand within moments. She slapped it down on the bar in front of Will, jabbing the open page triumphantly.

“Evening classes!” she declared, pleased as punch. “Take your pick!”

She wasn’t about to take no for an answer, but he made a last-ditch effort anyway. “What makes you think I can afford this, Beverly?”

“Because you haven’t spent money on clothes in six years. Now, enough stalling.” She jabbed the page again. “Choose!”

Will sighed, smoothing out the paper. She wouldn’t quit, he knew that much. Maybe if he indulged her just this once she’d cut him some slack in future. He skimmed the page, and settled on the first thing that didn’t look horrifyingly disagreeable. “There.” He pointed. “Cooking class. Acceptable?”

She peered over his shoulder, raising her eyebrow. “Lithuanian cuisine? Interesting choice, but sure. Alright, no take-backs, Graham.” She fished his phone out of his pocket for him, pressing it into his hand. “Text the number right this second, set a date. And I’ll know if you cancel, so don’t even think about it!”

Will begrudgingly started doing just that. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, I’m just looking out for you.” She ruffled his hair. It was patronising, but not altogether awful. “You need _friends,_ Graham. Human ones. And if you’re barely gonna talk to anyone at work, well, we’ve gotta throw the net out. Meet some new people, man- you've gotta find at least _one_ you like!”

Rolling his eyes, Will tuned her out again in favour of composing his message. He couldn’t stay mad at her. She was looking out for him, in her overbearing way. And she wasn’t wrong; he didn’t have many friends. He should give meeting some new people a shot. Should maybe try not to scare them off too fast, too. He hadn’t had much luck with that in the past, but maybe he could survive one stupid cooking session. He could keep his nervous tics and abrasive personality in check for one night, right?

And if he could handle that… what could go wrong?

* * *

Across town, in the toasty glow of a dwindling fire, Hannibal Lecter set his phone aside for the night, final confirming text sent. He relaxed back into the sofa cushions, held his glass of wine to his nose and smiled. It would seem he had plans next Friday. With a Mister Will Graham.

He sounded just _delicious._

* * *

It was seven fifteen on Friday, and Will was running late. Go figure.

But now finally the dogs were settled, the house locked up, and Will had made the drive out from Wolf Trap to stand on the doorstep of one of the loveliest houses he’d even seen. In his oil-stained comfy clothes, with I’m-super-late stress sweat, he felt like a stain on the welcome mat. But, he did promise Bev; and she did forensics for the FBI, so he had no doubt she’d be checking in to make sure he kept his promise. No way out, so best to just get it over with. With a final sigh he rang the doorbell, and made use of the following twenty seconds of silence with a token attempt at straightening himself out a little.

The door opened before he was ready, but in fairness he wouldn’t have been ready with a whole extra hour to spare. He barely managed to plaster on his ‘normal functioning person’ smile in time.

The appearance of the man who greeted him nearly knocked that smile right off. He was tall, a few years older than Will (most likely), and wearing a partially unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up that probably cost more than Will’s entire wardrobe put together. He looked casual, comfortable, in an undeniably _expensive_ way, and about three hundred times more put-together than Will felt. Combined with the pleasant, knowing smile on his lips and the twinkle in his hooded eyes, he looked and felt not unlike a languorous jungle cat in man’s clothing. “Will Graham?”

Will kept his smile in place (with difficulty) and accepted when the man politely offered a hand to shake. “Hi. Yeah. Sorry I’m late. Uh, Hannibal, right?”

“Yes,” said Hannibal, eyes crinkling a little at the corners as he stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

Will nodded, already relaxing a little as he stepped over the threshold. Hannibal had a very thick accent, and spoke in slow, measured sentences. English was clearly a fairly recent language for him. It was quite possible he wasn’t at a comfortable conversational level with it, yet, and Will certainly didn’t have any Lithuanian under his belt. This boded well for Will, who rarely had the patience for heavy conversation anyway, let alone after the kind of day he’d had. He could handle polite small talk and cooking instructions, though. “Nice place,” he offered, when he felt he’d been quiet too long.

Hannibal gave that crinkly smile again. “Thank you. That is nice of you to say,” he put together after a moment’s thought.

Yep, night of slow and limited conversation it was. Will felt the weight lifting off of his shoulders already. All the same, he’d rather not stand awkwardly in the hall all night. He caught sight of the gleam of chrome through a nearby door as the kitchen came into view, and nodded towards it. “Well, after you.”

His host looked mildly surprised. “You don’t… want a drink? Before?”

As nice as this guy seemed, Will didn’t want to drag the evening out with stilted conversation over glasses of uncomfortably pricy wine. “Uh… I mean, I’m happy to just… get to it. If you are.”

Hannibal still looked surprised, but pleasantly so. “You are sure? My, so eager! So brave! Come, then, we will begin!”

The man was so animated now, enthusiasm rolling off him in waves. Not even Will could avoid being a little swept up in it; he even found himself genuinely _smiling_ as the energetic Lithuanian bustled about the kitchen, setting out ingredients and paraphernalia that Will couldn’t even name. Clearly, Hannibal was in his element in the kitchen. He moved with such confidence and happiness, it was hard not to be a little transfixed. Watching him at it felt… easy. _Right,_ even. Which was so fucking novel for Will that he was determined to enjoy it.

In fact, Will grew so relaxed and content watching the spectacle from the other side of the kitchen island that it took him a moment to realise Hannibal was attempting to get his attention.

“This is acceptable?” Hannibal questioned, holding a recipe card out for Will’s inspection.

Will glanced at it. It was in Lithuanian and all but incomprehensible to him, so he just shrugged and nodded. “Sure. I mean, I’m no expert, so I’ll just go along with whatever you want.”

Hannibal looked delighted, smile spreading enough to offer Will a glimpse of crooked teeth. “Yes?”

The smile felt rare, and genuine, and therefore fucking infectious as hell. “Yeah,” Will agreed easily. “Just, you know, tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“You are sure?” Hannibal looked like he literally couldn’t believe his luck. Jesus, he must have had some _appallingly_ unenthusiastic students over the years.

Will wanted to break that pattern. It was a weird and overpowering feeling, but he wanted to keep that smile on Hannibal’s face, make up for all the enthusiasm he must have been lacking from past students. Like he was paying for the sins of a thousand miserable bastards who couldn’t even pretend to be interested. Which should have felt like a burden, but strangely it didn’t; food clearly wasn’t a burden to Hannibal, he _cared_ about it, and that made _Will_ want to care. He was caught in some fucking empathy-enthusiasm feedback loop with Hannibal’s love of cooking and it felt _good._

Jesus, Bev was gonna be _so_ fucking smug.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said firmly, handing the card back to Hannibal. “I’m, uh, kinda stubborn like that. Like to see things through.”

“That is very brave,” said Hannibal approvingly, practically radiating cheer and… pride?

Will answered his grin with one of his own- _Christ,_ what _was_ this, he hadn’t smiled this much in… who knew? “Yeah. Honestly, do your thing.”

“You are ready?”

“Yeah- ready for anything.”

“... _Quite_ ready?”

Will laughed, his own face aching with the force of his smile. Okay, the guy was winding him up now- weirdly, he wasn’t mad. It felt fun, friendly, it felt… flirty? It felt like nothing Will had expected to feel, and he wasn’t complaining. _Definitely_ not complaining. _“Yes,_ Hannibal- c’mon, what do I do first?”

Hannibal clapped his hands together, in an almost childish flurry of excitement. “Wonderful! We begin, then- if you please, take off your clothes, I cut the vegetables!”

“Right, sure,” Will chuckled, reaching for his top button while Hannibal cheerfully diced peppers.

He processed that sentence fully at around the fourth button.

“Um…” He turned to Hannibal. “Take my clothes off?”

Hannibal cocked his head. “Yes. Is this… a problem?”

_The fuck?_ “Is this… part of the lesson? Somehow? Do I need to change, or…?”

Now it was his host’s turn to look confused. “Lesson? What is this lesson?”

Will glanced between Hannibal and his own partially exposed chest. “...I’m confused.”

“Well, so am I,” said Hannibal, brow furrowed.

Okay. Something had got _seriously_ lost in translation here. Will sighed. This was _exactly_ why he liked to _avoid_ meeting new people. Maybe Hannibal was one of those people who liked to arrange finger food on naked models. Like the sushi thing, but European. Not Will’s scene. Shame, really- he was actually kinda starting to enjoy his company. “What did _you_ think this was?”

“Well,” said Hannibal, tapping his knife on the counter with a look of bewildered consternation. “I was going to eat you.”

Will blinked.

Twice.

Then once more for luck.

“I… sorry, I may have misheard, um. Did you just say you were going to eat me?”

Hannibal looked even more confused than he did, putting the knife down and pushing the whole cutting board away. “Yes.”

Oh, okay. So it was _weirder_ than the naked sushi thing.

Will glanced towards the door. Close enough to make a run for it. Like a crazy person, he didn’t do that. “No, okay, sorry, I think there’s been some kind of… look, I’m here for the course, the _cookery.”_

“This _is_ the cookery,” said Hannibal, gesturing emphatically between Will and the recipe card on the counter.

In another reckless fit of not-running-away, Will fumbled in his pocket for the scrap of paper he’d tucked away in case he needed to double check the address. “Look, I’ve, uh, I’ve got your ad…”

Hannibal, silent as a cat- apparently Will’s initial judgement of him had been _spookily_ apt- materialised on Will’s side of the island at his shoulder to peer at the crumpled square of newsprint. Still not running away for some reason, Will pointed at the text. “Look,” he repeated gruffly, underlining the phrase. “ _‘I want to cook with you’_...”

At that, Hannibal went from looking confused to looking distinctly _sheepish._ “Ah, no. My English is… not so good…”

A lightbulb went live in Will’s head. _“Oh,”_ he breathed, laughing a little manically as realisation set in. “You want to cook ‘with’ me? You mean _‘using’_ me!”

Hannibal beamed and nodded fervently. “Yes!”

Still not running away (and thinking maybe he _deserved_ to be eaten for that oversight alone), Will practically cackled at the absurdity of the situation. “Okay, okay, I get where we got our wires crossed- look, I thought this was a _cooking class!”_

The Lithuanian cannibal laughed with him, eyes crinkling, flashing those crooked teeth in a delighted grin. The entire image was decidedly non-threatening. Maybe that’s why Will _still_ wasn’t getting his ass in gear and making a run for it. Anyone who stood and laughed with cannibals _about_ cannibalism this long was probably meant to be dinner.

In fairness- sad, pitiful fairness- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much. Or smiled this much, come to think of it.

Eventually the raucous laughter had to die down, fading into subdued chuckles. Hannibal’s face leveled out somewhat as he regarded Will with amusement and some resignation. “So… you are not interested?”

The door was _right there._ “No, thanks,” said Will, shrugging. “I, uh, didn’t really plan to be dinner tonight.”

Hannibal nodded. He looked put out, but politely so. “How disappointing,” he said lightly, wandering back over to the counter to scrape his partially prepared peppers into a bowl. “But understandable, yes.”

He was closer to his knife, now. Will once again noted that the door was very much within sprinting distance. “Sorry, Hannibal,” he said instead of sprinting. Somehow watching the disappointed slouch of his host’s shoulders distracted him from the idea of running for his life. “This must be kind of a let down, huh?”

Hannibal smiled graciously, clearly attempting to look less put-out. He was a good host. Y’know, cannibalising the guests aside. “Not at all. The choice, it must be yours, yes?”

Will nodded, and told himself very firmly that he should _not_ feel guilty for not letting this strange man chop him up and cook him in a broth. Still, the new atmosphere in the kitchen at that point could only be described as… awkward. He should probably just leave, for several reasons.

“Had my appendix out last month,” he mumbled. “I should’ve kept it in the freezer for you.”

It was exactly the kind of morbid crack that would have earned him equal looks of horror and incomprehension in just about any other venue. The kind that would have made Bev put her face in her hands with a muttered ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Graham’.

Hannibal, however, smiled that crooked smile again, a fond twinkle in those dark, hooded eyes. “That is nice of you. But the meat would be bad by now. Not good.”

“No, suppose not,” Will chuckled, shaking his head.

Silence descended again. Will glanced at the door. Sprint or no sprint, now was probably the time to make a gracious exit. “Well, uh. I won’t waste any more of your time,” he said regretfully. He caught himself by surprise with his own sincerity. Christ, he needed his head checked. “I’ll get out of your hair. It was… it was nice to meet you, Hannibal.” Again, sincere. Fucking weird.

Hannibal nodded his assent, but he looked mildly troubled. Still, Will turned his back on him (bad idea _bad idea),_ and was about two steps from the kitchen door when that thick Lithuanian accent formed a sentence even more out-of-the-blue than the earlier confession of cannibalism.

“Would you like some ice cream?”

Will turned back to him, eyebrow raised. “...Excuse me?”

“I made dessert,” Hannibal explained, gliding to the freezer and retrieving an ornate dessert platter. Perched on top was perhaps the fanciest ice cream arrangement Will had ever laid his eyes on, decorated with intricate chocolate swirls and cloud-like clumps of cream. “For after… well, that does not matter now!” said Hannibal brightly, coming closer and holding out the platter for Will’s inspection. “Food is better with company, yes? Stay? If you like.” He furrowed his brow, seeking a word. “It is… strawberry.”

The logical part of Will’s brain told him that he should decline (politely), get out of this bizarre situation ASAP, and maybe call the police with an anonymous tip on a local cannibal from a payphone on his way back to his warm bed and his dogs.

But as evidenced by his numerous instances of not-running, the logical part of his brain was on vacation tonight.

“Sure,” he said with a small, soft smile. “I’d like that.”

* * *

The ice cream, as expected, was fantastic.

The company, unexpectedly, even more so.

* * *

_“Soooooooo?”_

Will blinked and looked up to find Beverly’s expectant face peering down at him. She barrelled right ahead before he could even open his mouth. “Go on, spill- how’d it go?”

“Good, it was good,” said Will, pushing his papers aside. As long as Bev was loitering, work would be a virtual impossibility. He found himself smiling a little, and tamped it down as best he could. “It actually turned out to be a pretty fun night.”

Bev’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Woah. Was that an actual _smile?_ Jeez, Graham, you get laid or something?”

“What, no!” Will sputtered, face hot. It wasn’t a lie. Meaningful eye contact didn’t count as _getting laid._ And neither did a few prolonged, maybe less-than-platonic touches to hands and necks and lower backs after a few glasses of wine, even if it _was_ the most physical contact he’s had with another human being since about… March. Three years ago.

Needless to say, Bev was hooked. “Oh, my god, you are _smitten._ Man, she must really be something.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “Wait, wasn’t the person you texted a guy?”

He crossed his arms.

“Hey, I’m not judging!” she said, raising her hands. “God no, not at all, just… didn’t know you swung that way.”

Will resisted the urge to say ‘me neither’, and made do with a nonchalant shrug.

“So,” she pressed, brushing right past the awkward moment and dropping into the seat opposite with a grin. “Tell me _everything._ Did you even get to cook anything before things got-” she paused for effect, smirking- “ _steamy?”_

“Puns will get you nowhere.”

“You know that’s never stopped me.”

He snorted. “No, it hasn’t.” Pushing his papers aside fully he leaned both elbows on the desk, Bev mirroring his position expectantly. “Nothing even _happened,_ he was just… funny. And polite. Didn’t say much- but, uh, not for lack of trying. He can’t speak English that well yet, but we made do. Although there were… misunderstandings.”

Her eyes glinted. “Oh, now I just _know_ you’ve got a hilarious anecdote. Spill the beans, Graham!”

Will thought back to the moment the penny dropped, and grinned as he felt another attack of stunned giggles threaten to make an appearance. “Jesus, it’s… it’s _really_ bad.”

_“Even better.”_

“It...” He snickered, running his hand down his face. “Turns out it _wasn’t_ a cooking class.”

Bev _cackled,_ hands shooting up to her mouth. “Oh, my god, did he want you to shoot a porno or something?” She gasped. _“Did you go along with it anyway?”_

“No!” he said, a little breathless from the manic laughter he was trying and failing to hold in. “Jeez, Bev, no, nothing like that!”

“Well, fucking tell me, asshole!”

“He made a mistake in the ad, ‘cause his English isn’t great. He didn’t wanna _teach_ me how to cook,” Will continued, to Beverly’s delighted laughter. And if he wasn’t so giddy with the absurdity, and so weirdly detached from the crux of the matter by the subsequent passing time and good company, he might have had second thoughts about telling her. Might have done the sensible thing and made up some other misunderstanding, maybe gone with his initial naked sushi guess. But he was in it, now, and too damn tickled to check himself. “He wanted to cook _me!”_

And for approximately three seconds, there was guffawing laughter, and everything was fine.

But then those seconds ended, and Bev’s laughter petered out as her brain caught up to his words. She blinked, twice. And again. In fact, she reacted almost _exactly_ like he had last night, and he filed that observation away. Maybe there was some nerve centre in the brain specifically for controlling reactions to unexpected confessions of intended cannibalism? He should go look into that.

Eventually her mouth stopped flopping up and down uselessly, and spilled out an actual word. “What?”

Of course, now Will’s good humour was fading and he was starting to realise that blabbing about his new crush- his new _friend’s_ cannibalistic tendencies wasn’t all that tactical. But the cat was out of the bag now. He figured the best he could do was try and downplay it. He opted for an old classic- the nonchalant shrug-off. “Yeah. Fun night.”

“Fun _night?”_ Bev questioned, eyes bugging. “You _stayed?”_

By this point, Will’s embarrassment was warring with defensiveness. “...We had ice cream.”

“...You had ice cream.”

“And wine,” Will added, as if that somehow made it better. “And a little whiskey.” And he’d slept on Hannibal’s couch, since he was too tipsy to drive by the end, but he figured that little nugget might just give Beverly an aneurysm.

“With the man who _wanted to eat you?!”_ she shrieked.

“Only with my consent,” Will defended. Before taking a second to wonder how exactly his life had come to this.

“Oh, well I guess that makes it just _fine,_ then,” Bev scoffed, looking like she sort of wanted to kill him herself. “Jesus, Will, why didn’t you call the cops?”

“He wasn’t dangerous.”

“He _wanted to eat you!”_

_“Only with my consent,”_ Will reiterated stubbornly. She had a point, honestly, but he’d come too far in this argument to back down now. Apparently, this was the hill he’d die on.

Also he’d never eat ice cream that fucking good again if Hannibal got arrested.

“Oh my- okay, you know what? Give me this guy’s name,” Bev ordered, grabbing one of Will’s pens and holding it over her wrist. “If you won’t report this guy, _I_ will.”

Will considered his options. He could refuse, thus leading Bev to lose all faith in his sanity- and probably go find out herself anyway because it couldn’t be that hard to track down a newspaper ad from a week ago. He could give her a fake name and send her on a wild goose chase, which wouldn’t fool her for long and would probably just annoy her more. Or he could tell the truth, get Hannibal arrested, and hope the guy would forgive him- and was smart enough not to leave any hard evidence laying around.

All those options sounded pretty unappealing, but the last one especially- it seemed pretty shitty and immoral to rat Hannibal out after staying the whole night and using him for food and company.

Then again, as Bev said, being a fucking _cannibal_ was pretty immoral, too.

Christ, meeting new people was more fucking trouble than it was worth.

It was an ethical quandary for sure, but in the end the quiet, long-ignored logical side of his bran won out, and he gave in with a heavy sigh. “His name’s Hannibal Le-”

He was interrupted by the sound of Bev throwing the pen down in frustration. He looked up, startled, and found her absolutely fuming. “Seriously, Will,” she snapped. “Oh, my- is this a fucking _joke_ to you? I was _worried,_ you _asshole!_ You had me going, not gonna lie, shame you fucking suck at names- Jesus, it fucking _rhymes._ You seriously have nothing better to do? This is to get back at me for bugging you, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, bewildered. “I- I don’t-”

“God, you’re such a _dick,”_ she snapped, pushing sharply away from the desk. “Well, when an _actual_ cannibal eats your face, don’t come crying to me, asshole.”

She stood, turned sharply on her heel, and stormed away. He thought he heard her mutter, distantly: _“Hannibal the cannibal… yeah, like_ hell.” before her quick steps and the closing door took her out of earshot.

Will stared after her a second, somewhat shell-shocked by the explosion of her fury. “...But that’s his name,” he said quietly, to no one in particular.

He should probably get up and go say it to Bev.

His phone chirped. He checked it. A short text awaited him, from a recently saved number.

_Would you like to come to dinner tonight? I would like to cook for you! Promise I will not bite!_

Another message followed shortly after.

_(Unless you would like that?)_

Will snorted, bit his lip, and replied before he could question his sanity.

_ask me again after the third date. dinner sounds great._

He stared at the text chain a moment longer, considering the display name, and chuckled. “It _does_ rhyme…”

So, maybe he had a cannibal in his contacts, now. Maybe he had a date scheduled with said cannibal, and was doomed to to spend the rest of the day leading up to it very unsubtly flirting with him over text. Maybe his life was just the most stupid fucking mess imaginable.

But he was still too happy to care about Bev’s angry messages blowing up his inbox.

She should be happy for him, anyway. He did what she told him to; he got out, tried new things, met new people. Even found one he actually liked. _Really_ liked. A person he’d quite like to keep. A person with a cute smile, insane cooking skills and… a questionable hobby or two.

Well. Nobody’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you had a heckin' giggle, lads!! Plz comment if you did, they fuel me <333


End file.
